Thirty weeks. Ten weeks to go. Caleb is the size of a cabbage (the produce comparisons continue; I'm starting to view the grocery store as a developmental chart).
The support group has become my community. Every Tuesday, the same twelve women gather in the same beige room with the same terrible coffee and we talk about deployment and babies and recipes and the specific brand of dark humor that only makes sense when your husband is 7,000 miles away. I bring food every week now — it's my thing, my role, my contribution. Last week: lemon bars. This week: cornbread muffins. Next week: Sandra requested the brownies again.
I'm becoming known as 'the one who brings food,' which is the military wife equivalent of being known for your skill. Everyone has a thing — the one who organizes events, the one who knows the system, the one who watches kids during appointments. I'm the one who feeds people. I'm my mother.
Ryan's calls have shifted. He talks about the baby constantly now — what to name the nursery wall, whether we need a baby monitor (yes, Ryan, we need a baby monitor), what kind of dad he'll be. He's nervous. The Marine who was calm about deployment is nervous about a seven-pound human.
'What if I hold him wrong?' he said on Tuesday.
'You won't.'
'What if he doesn't like me?'
'Ryan. He's a baby. He's going to like you because you're warm and you have arms.'
'What if I'm bad at it?'
'Then you'll get better. That's how it works.'
I said that. Me. The person who couldn't make dumplings six months ago. The person who burned her first meatloaf and overcooked potato salad and served crunchy rice to the man she loved. I said 'you'll get better' because I know it's true. Because getting better is the whole story.
Mom's nightly calls have added a new section: baby prep. She walks me through what to pack in the hospital bag, what to stock in the pantry for after the birth, when to wash the baby clothes (before the baby arrives, with fragrance-free detergent, and 'don't forget the receiving blankets, Rachel'). She's systematic. She's thorough. She's Donna.
I made her chicken potpie tonight — the full production, from-scratch crust. The crust was the best one I've ever made. Flaky. Buttery. Held together with the barely-there lightness that Mom achieves and that I've been chasing for a year.
'I think I got the crust,' I told Mom.
'Don't get cocky,' she said. 'Next time it'll be too thick. That's how baking works.'
She's right. But tonight it was perfect. And I'm saving the feeling.
The night I finally got Mom’s potpie crust right — truly right, flaky and buttery and light the way hers always is — I knew I wanted to carry that same feeling into Tuesday’s group. This Bacon-Chicken Crescent Ring is how I do it for a crowd: all the golden, pull-apart comfort of a great pastry crust wrapped around chicken and smoky bacon, without the two hours of rolling and resting. It’s the dish I bring when I want people to feel fed in the way that actually counts, and in that beige room with the terrible coffee, that’s everything.
Bacon-Chicken Crescent Ring
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 tubes (8 oz each) refrigerated crescent roll dough
- 2 1/2 cups cooked chicken, shredded or finely chopped
- 6 strips bacon, cooked and crumbled
- 1 1/2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
- 1/3 cup mayonnaise
- 1/4 cup sour cream
- 1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/4 teaspoon onion powder
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Preheat. Preheat your oven to 375°F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
- Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the shredded chicken, crumbled bacon, cheddar cheese, mayonnaise, sour cream, Dijon mustard, garlic powder, onion powder, and black pepper. Stir until everything is evenly coated and well combined.
- Arrange the dough. Unroll both tubes of crescent dough and separate into individual triangles. Arrange the triangles in a sunburst pattern on the prepared baking sheet — wide ends overlapping in the center to form a 5-inch circle, pointed ends fanning outward like rays.
- Add the filling. Spoon the chicken mixture in an even ring around the wide ends of the dough, directly on top of the overlapping center circle, leaving the pointed ends free.
- Fold and seal. Working around the ring, fold each pointed triangle end up and over the filling, tucking the tip underneath the wide end on the opposite side to seal. The filling will peek through the gaps — that’s fine.
- Bake. Bake for 22 to 26 minutes, until the crescent dough is deep golden brown and cooked through. If the top browns too quickly, tent loosely with foil for the last 5 minutes.
- Rest and serve. Let the ring rest for 5 minutes before slicing into wedges. Garnish with fresh parsley if desired and serve warm.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 415 | Protein: 21g | Fat: 27g | Carbs: 23g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 790mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 131 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
